


be with you through all seasons

by hlundqvists



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New York Rangers, Soul Bond, soul mark au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:05:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3946462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hlundqvists/pseuds/hlundqvists
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He wonders if his soulmate does the same thing, if touching the mark on their skin is as much a comfort to them as it is to him.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He hopes it is.</i>
</p>
<p>or, a hank/marc soulmark au of sorts fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	be with you through all seasons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ifonlynotnever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifonlynotnever/gifts).



> for my babe's birthday. i hope you like it, ras. <3
> 
> title taken from the song 'downstream' by supertramp. also, credit to ras for the idea of what hank and marc's soul marks would be!

****

**one**

Hank gets his mark when he’s six years old. It comes in clearly all at once; unlike Joel’s which comes in little by little over the years. He’s fascinated by it, a bold **18** resting on his wrist. He asks his parents what it means, who his soulmate is. When they don’t have any direct answers for him, he feels a bit of disappointment. He wants to _know_ who he is meant to be with. He wants to meet this person _now_. 

His parents tell him to be patient, that all the answers will come in time when they are meant to.

**

As he gets older, the mark becomes more and more of a source of comfort for Hank. He doesn’t hide it, unashamed, hoping that maybe keeping it bared to the world will bring his person to him faster. 

He forms a habit of tracing over the mark lightly with a finger before games. Touching it brings an ease to all his pre-game jitters; tracing over the **1** first, then the **8** with careful brushes of his finger soothes and quiets his nerves down. 

He wonders if his soulmate does the same thing, if touching the mark on their skin is as much a comfort to them as it is to him.

He hopes it is.

He wants to be a comforting thought to them, just as they are to him.

****

**two**

Marc gets his mark when he’s ten. There isn’t any huge build up to it or some feeling that overtakes him before he gets it. It just…. happens. He wakes up one morning and his mark is there on his wrist; a small, regal-looking crown placed neatly on the corner of his wrist. 

He touches it lightly, making sure it’s not just some drawing in sharpie from Eric or a fake tattoo. When it doesn’t smudge or disappear after he rubs it vigorously a few times, Marc finally starts to smile. 

He has his mark. He’s meant for someone. He _is_.

**

Inevitably, his brothers make fun of it. A crown means Marc is a prince waiting to be rescued, that Marc is going to live out a Cinderella story. He makes faces, tells his brothers to all go screw themselves as he keeps gazing at the crown.

He doesn’t care what it means; if he’s getting rescued or doing the rescuing or whatever it might mean, he doesn’t care. He only cares about the fact that he _has_ this mark, that there is someone out there for him.

He’s not going to be alone.

****

**three**

Marc joins the Rangers and Hank doesn’t make a connection between his mark and the number on Marc’s jersey. He _does_ , however, make a connection with Marc. They bond quickly, hanging out together outside of the locker room.

Hank feels a peacefulness around Marc that he’s been missing for a few years now. Marc feels comfortable, feels _safe_ with Hank.

It only takes a few months before Hank realizes he’s in danger, that he’s been falling for Marc all this time and he can’t stop himself from falling any further. He worries, unsure and scared, because what is he supposed to do if he falls in love with someone he’s not meant to be with? Where will that leave him?

Sometimes he looks at the **18** on his wrist and compares it to the **18** on Marc’s jersey. He lets himself hope, think that maybe….. maybe that is the answer; that the 18 on his wrist means _Marc_. 

But he doesn’t know what Marc has on his wrist. Ever since Marc joined the team, he’s been careful to keep his wrist covered and all the time Hank has spent with him, not once have their discussed their marks.

Hank resigns himself to loving Marc from a distance, waiting and hoping that he might be given the answer he’s hoping for sooner rather than later. It’s all up to Marc and whatever he may be hiding under his wristband.

**

Marc could come up with a million excuses or more to explain why he keeps his wrist guard on around Hank, but it all boils down to the same reason; he’s scared.

He’s scared of not being enough for Hank. He’s scared of letting Hank down, of not being what Hank needs. He’s scared that maybe he has this all wrong; that the **18** on Hank’s wrist doesn’t really mean that he belongs to Hank and the crown on his own wrist means something other than Henrik ‘ _The King_ ’ Lundqvist being his. 

He’s scared of having this all wrong and backwards in his head, that he’s just filling in blank spaces with his own personal hope because he’s been falling for Hank over these past few months. He craves Hank, _loves_ Hank, and he’s so scared that he could be wrong about this.

But then…. then one morning he’s running late to practice. His alarms didn’t go off and he’s rushing to get to the rink on time and it’s not until he gets there that he realizes he _forgot his wrist guard_. 

He feels so naked with it, wrist bared, crown brightly dark against the paleness of his skin and he tries to hide it but it’s too late for that. 

He knows Hank sees it. He can tell from the way Hank seems to freeze up, eyes widening as they flicker between Marc’s wrist to his face.

“Hank, I…”

Hank shakes his head, stopping Marc.

There’s a silence that fills the air between them, everyone else who is still in the locker room going quiet. 

Marc bites his lip, fear pricking at his chest as the silence from Hank prolongs. He’s nearly ready to leave, to grab his stuff and say goodbye to New York and flee back home in shame and embarrassment but before he can blink, Hank is there, standing right in front of him, reaching out to curl a hand around Marc’s arm and lift it for a better look at the crown on his wrist.

“You…” Hank starts, then stops, looking as if he’s at a loss for words while gazing at Marc’s wrist. Marc wants to say something, _anything_ , but his tongue just won’t work and he doesn’t know what words he would use anyway.

If he had any words, they’d be useless and get stuck in his throat at Hank’s next action.

Hank leans forward, head bent down a little, and brushes his lips gently over the crown. 

Marc shudders, a soft whimpering cry sounding as Hank does it again, then once more before he’s murmuring against Marc’s skin, “I knew it had to be you.”

****

**four**

Life gets better after that. Dealing with bruises and losses that ache become easier once they finally fall into each other’s arms at night.

Marc finds stability in Hank’s arms while Hank finds reassurances in Marc’s.

Their bond becomes stronger with each passing day, every passing minute.

When Hank is aching or upset from a goal he allowed, Marc feels the twinges of guilt that Hank is feeling in his own chest as if the guilt is his and not Hank’s. When Marc blocks a hard shot that’s difficult to shake off, Hank feels a faint throbbing pain in his shins for hours after.

When games are won, the happiness they feel _together_ is almost overwhelming at first. It makes Hank’s eye prick at the corners with tears that he won’t shed but are still there regardless. Marc just smiles when it happens, bumping his helmet gently to Hank’s, and murmurs a soft, “I love you.”

Hank takes the words, absorbs them, and holds them in his chest, lets them calm the waves of emotions crashing over him.

He always manages to smile in return and mutter back a soft, “I love you, too.”

**

When Marc gets hit with the puck, it feels as if Hank’s lungs collapse. He’s blinded momentarily by pain - _Marc’s pain_ \- and can’t breathe. He doesn’t know what to do or where to go; does he go to Marc or stay back? He doesn’t know. There’s so much _pain_ and it’s pain that _Marc_ is feeling and Hank can’t focus, can’t breathe.

He can’t, he can’t, he can’t--

“Hank,” Callahan’s voice breaks through the panic, makes him take a few deep breaths. “Hank, go with him. It’s okay.”

He opens his mouth, about to protest because even though every fiber of his being is telling him to follow as Marc gets led off the ice, he knows that he’s supposed to _stay_ and keep playing even though he has no idea _how_ he can do that.

“Hank, go. If it was Dan, I wouldn’t be staying. So _go_.”

Hank doesn’t wait another moment to hurry off the ice and get to Marc as fast as he can.

**

Marc tries to push Hank away at first, but between the medical trainers and the pain overwhelming him, he can’t fight for long.

Hank reaches for Marc’s hand, not batting an eye at the blood covering Marc’s fingers and squeezes hard.

“I’m here, älskling. I’m _here_.”

The feelings of Hank’s fingers between his and the sureness of Hank’s tone is just enough to help Marc calm down so he can breathe. 

He doesn’t let go of Hank’s hand the entire way to the hospital.

**

The week that follows isn’t easy. 

Hank stays up most nights, gently cleaning Marc’s face of blood and re-bandaging around his eye.

Marc stays quiet for the first few days, barely saying more than a few words. Hank doesn’t need words from Marc; he knows what Marc needs, can feel it in his chest when Marc needs more pain medication or when Marc is craving physical contact.

They fall asleep tangled tightly together most of those nights.

Hank knows that Marc feels guilty and is blaming himself for getting hurt. He doesn’t let that feeling linger, pressing gentle kisses to Marc’s temple away from the bandages.

“You’re okay. No one blames you. You’re safe, you’re okay, and you’re mine.”

Marc just clutches to Hank’s shirt tightly and doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t have to. 

Hank feels the tension leave Marc, feels the guilt lessen.

That’s all he needs.

****

**five**

Time passes, Marc heals, and somehow he and Hank fall even more in love. Their bond strengthens further.

Marc thinks he’s a bit more in love with the way they spend their off days together than anything. He’s worn Hank down over the years, made him more agreeable to staying in bed during the mornings.

It’s where they are now that Marc loves most; the way he’s held so close by Hank, their legs tangled together and Hank’s hair an utter mess of bedhead. He feels safer like this than anywhere else and he knows that Hank knows that, is aware that that’s why Hank indulges him on these lazy mornings in bed.

“You look ridiculous,” Marc mumbles against the top of Hank’s shoulder, lips quirking at the corners to form a teasing smile.

Hank grumbles in response, reaching for Marc’s arm and lifts it to brush his lips against Marc’s wrist, kissing the crown there gently.

“You like the way I look right now. Don’t lie.”

Marc grins, watching as Hank continues to kiss his mark, shivering with every pass of his lips.

“I do. You’re perfect like this.”

Hank smiles, giving a light nip to Marc’s wrist. The action makes Marc sigh pleasantly, fingers stretching down to touch Hank’s cheek. Hank does it again, following the bite up with a slow swipe of his tongue, tracing the outline of the crown slowly.

Marc shudders, biting back a moan.

“Do you know how, _ah_ , narcissistic that is?”

Hanks laughs, pulling away only to roll over and straddle Marc, pinning Marc’s arms above his head.

“As if you’re really complaining about it.”

Marc lets out a breathless laugh as Hank squeezes his wrists, hips rocking down to grind tortuously slow against Marc.

“I’m not. I’m just saying.”

Hank grins, letting go of Marc’s wrists, sliding his hands up to press his palms flat against Marc’s, lacing their fingers and pressing their wrists together, letting their marks touch.

“I know.”  


Marc smiles, pressing his wrists up slightly, soaking up the pleasurable sensation that overtakes him as his mark brushes against Hank’s.

“I’m so happy you found me.”

Hank leans down, kissing him slowly until they are both left equally breathless and aching for more.

“I’m so glad you let me.”


End file.
